


Dangerous

by thecannabiskid



Series: Sold my soul to a three-piece [1]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecannabiskid/pseuds/thecannabiskid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot declines the job at Evilcorp but that doesn't mean he and Tyrell can't work together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how to write for Tyrell I'm praying I did alright tbh fu ck

                “Ca-can I think about it?” He sounds like a wuss. Tyrell waves the men off who sit around the table and Elliot isn’t focusing. He doesn’t know how to say _no_ without feeling guilty.

            “You know, _evil_ corp has just named me interim CTO, and it won’t be long until it’s official.” He leans back in his seat. He talks with his hands, Elliot notices it almost instantly. “I will be the youngest executive this company has ever seen.” He’s focusing on his mouth, hears something about hackers and thanking them, he looks away. “In a way it’s kind of, what’s the word in English, _serendipitous,_ right?” He laughs, Jesus, it catches Elliot off guard. He’s crazy. This guy is a whole different kind of crazy than Mr. Robot. Christ, are these types of people drawn to him, does he give off a vibe, _come closer insane fuckers, I’m one of you._ He isn’t. He isn’t crazy, is he?

            Tyrell is _dramatic._ That’s dangerous. He’s dangerous and he’s coming closer to him, Elliot turns away from him the closer he gets. He keeps talking with his hands, _we’re going to revamp,_ he wants out of this situation. Allsafe is done for, that’s what he’s saying, he’ll be out of a job. Angela will be out of a job. Lloyd. Ollie does dickall it isn’t even like he has a job there. He swallows hard.

            “I want you to be here, with me, where you _belong_.” He looks up at him, locks eyes and he feels like a fish and Tyrell is a shark. He wonders how hard he can bite. Is he going to crush his windpipe? Sharks are picky eaters, if they don’t like what they pick, they leave it to die. “This is an important choice that you’re making Elliot,” he sighs, he smells nice, “I just wanted you to know all the facts before you made your final decision.”

            “I….” Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ He’s leaning forward and Tyrell smiles. He’s a shark. And Elliot is whatever sharks want to eat. Whatever _this_ particular shark wants to eat. He’s the catch of the day. “I’m…. I think I like where I’m at.” Elliot is shocked at the theatrics. He can hear Tyrell’s tongue stick against his teeth before he walks away. The roll of his head as his body moves in a motion that most dancers would be jealous of is dangerous. He’s graceful. He’s dramatic. He’s dangerous. Elliot is fucked.

            “Well, I thought I’d ask,” _God,_ he’s got his hands in his pockets, faces towards the window. Elliot feels like he’s in a movie. When does he snap? He grabs his bag, doesn’t wait to find out.

            Shayla is being hassled when he gets to his complex. “You okay?” He breathes and she makes a face.

            “He can’t take a hint,” he looks back. Jesus. He looks crazy.

            “While I have you,” he says slowly and the car drives off, Shayla makes a face.

            “Don’t have all of it, you told me if I don’t have both,”

            “Been an off week,” he says weakly and she shakes her head.

            “No, Elliot.” It’s final. He could beg. He doesn’t.

 

            He takes a walk, needs to shake off this antsy feeling of not getting a hit he needs. He’s jittery. He ends up smoking six cigarettes in the twenty minutes he’s out. His fingers smell like smoke, fuck. He takes the stairs two at a time, he needs to feed Flipper.

            Tyrell is in his apartment. “How-how did you get i-“

            “You should walk your dog,” he says slowly and Flipper is watching Tyrell from the other side of the room. She doesn’t like him. A red flag goes off in his mind. “You live in a very unsafe neighborhood.” Flipper makes a noise when Tyrell stands up and he smiles at her. She growls. “You know, Elliot, I never took you for a…. How do I say this gently,” he’s pulling an orange bottle from his jacket pocket. “This isn’t good for you.”

            “Can you leave?”

            “Elliot,” his voice is warm and he can’t breathe. Maybe it’s his heater. He had opened the door, he shuts it and Tyrell is in front of him. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have…. _Unsavory_ habits.” Elliot swallows hard and his back is pressed hard against the door.

            “Unsavory,” Elliot breathes and Tyrell is tilting his chin up, his breath hits his lips and he isn’t sure if he whines or Flipper does but he’s being kissed and the first five seconds of it have his knees feeling fucking weak. He lets Tyrell move him to the couch. He ends up on his lap.

            He does a line, Tyrell doesn’t let him off his lap, rubs his hands over Elliot’s back slowly when he leans down to do another line, he keeps trying to arch out of the touch. “Elliot,” his voice is smooth and Elliot slumps back into him. Tyrell smells expensive. He looks expensive. Everything is starting to slow to a crawl and there are lips on his neck and a hand teasing the button of his pants.

            “Tyrell,” Elliot manages and he gets a soft hum. “I don-don’t think I want the job.”

            “That’s okay,” Elliot can feel his words strangling him. It really isn’t okay. “You want this?” His voice feels like syrup and it’s almost uncomfortable.

            “Yeah,” that hand playing with his button slides into his pants. The noise that leaves his mouth is embarrassing, a choked off high pitched sound that has Tyrell smiling against his neck before his teeth sink into his skin. He’s being moved, Tyrell gets him in bed. Elliot stares at the ceiling, listens to the soft way Tyrell breathes as he unzips Elliot’s jacket. His fingers work quickly at the buttons of his work top. He doesn’t flinch when Tyrell’s fingers find their way under his shirt. The morphine’s slowed his reaction time, numbed him. He’s being pulled out of his clothes. His body feels warm.

            Tyrell is nice to look at; he’s decided when the man locks eyes with him, gives him a reassuring smile. He’s scary. But he’s really nice to look at. “Elliot,” Tyrell murmurs and Elliot watches him. Watches him slide down his body and Elliot groans.

            Tyrell Wellick knows how to suck cock. He doesn’t care for it. But he knows how and Elliot is gripping at the sheets. His breathing labored and Tyrell has his hips pinned. He pulls off and his lips are puffy. Red. Elliot’s eyes roll from left to right; cold air hitting his prick and Tyrell pushes his hair back. One of his hands tighten around the base of Elliot’s prick, lips wrap around the head and suck.

            Elliot lets out a choked sob of pleasure, “gon-gonna,” and he can’t. Tyrell’s grip on the base of his length keeps him from climaxing and he has to keep himself from twisting away as Tyrell tongues the slit, he _hums_ and the electricity that surges up his spine has him moaning loudly.

            “Elliot, relax,” his voice is thick and Elliot is leaking, he can feel it.

            “Nee-need to,” he swallows and Tyrell hushes him, gives his cock a firm stroke and Elliot whites out. Cums all over himself in thick spurts and Tyrell watches him with a hungry look.

            “Would you like me to fuck you, Elliot?” Elliot runs a hand over his face. He nods.

            “Yeah.” And Tyrell is a shark. Elliot is going to be eaten alive.

            Tyrell’s hair keeps falling in his eyes as he works Elliot open. “Should get it cut,” Elliot groans and Tyrell lets out a laugh, twists his fingers and presses right against that bundle of nerves. Elliot is a mess. Eyes wide and he can feel the sweat on his face.

            “Gӧr ett bra jobb,” Elliot swallows hard. What the _fuck_ did he say? He doesn’t know Swedish. Good job. Was that it? He watches him, gets a smile. “Is this your first time?” Being fucked like this? _Yes_. Tyrell smiles, shark teeth. He feels like he’s being strangled.

            He can only manage a nod and Tyrell freezes. _Oh_. Oh no. He said the wrong thing. “It’s good, I like it,” he rasps and he can see the different emotions flooding his face, panic, relief, the cold stare that he gets makes him whimper. Tyrell adds a third finger, Elliot arches up off the bed, twists and Tyrell murmurs soothingly, foreign words dripping from his tongue as he holds Elliot down with a hand on his hip.

            “Such a good boy,” Tyrell says slowly and Elliot’s breathing hitches. He likes that. Praise is nice. Is this what it feels like to be a dog? The increased rhythm of his heart over the sound of sweet words. He lets out a stuttered moan and Tyrell is removing his fingers. He gets off the bed and Elliot doesn’t move. He hears foil being ripped, a click of a cap, then the faucet.

            Cleanliness. He must hate mess. He needs to remember that and the mattress dips while he’s thinking.

            The press of his cock against his entrance is weird and he tenses up. “Elliot,” and he looks at him, doesn’t flinch when Tyrell kisses him. He slides in, pulls away when he’s fully sheathed and Elliot is gasping like a fish out of water. It’s borderline painful and Tyrell is slow, rubs the side of his thigh and Elliot’s breathing is labored as he presses back in slowly. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t relax your breathing.” Tyrell’s voice is a soft warning and Elliot’s face scrunches up as he tries to do that.

            “Okay,”

            Tyrell laughs. It’s smooth. “You are so very nervous, Elliot, _koppla,_ ” he can’t do whatever _koppla_ means when Tyrell sounds like he’s going to eat him alive and the stunned laugh that leaves his mouth leads Elliot to believe he’s said the following out loud.

            “Sorry,” he whispers and his breathing is better and Tyrell smiles.

            “Do you want me to eat you alive, Elliot?” And he’s got a good rhythm going; he doesn’t usually fuck face to face. Joanna doesn’t care for it and when he’s, how do you say it, aiming to get to the top of the food chain, it’s easier to do it from behind. But he isn’t trying to do that now. He shakes the thought.

            Elliot has charming features. He likes his eyes. Easy to read the panic that floats through his mind. It’s constant. “Please?”

            “Hmm?” Elliot’s mouth curves around a moan and he’s gripping the sheets. Oh. _Eat him alive._ He smiles. He drags his teeth along Elliot’s jaw, nips down his throat and Elliot is tilting his head. Tyrell bites down during a particularly hard thrust that has Elliot crying out the word _fuck_ several times. When he pulls back Elliot is hard again, he focuses on making him cum a second time.

            It doesn’t take much, a few staggered thrusts to his prostate and Elliot is cumming on himself again. Tyrell finishes and waits. “ _Duktig kille_ ,”        Elliot looks dazed as Tyrell pulls out. He cleans himself up in the bathroom and grabs a towel. Elliot jumps at the warm wetness of the towel.

            “Can barely move,” Elliot groans and Tyrell laughs.

            “Next time, Elliot, you will not be able to move.” _Next time._

            “Next time?”

            “Did you not want to continue this?” Elliot swallows hard.

            “Can I think about it?” He can see the irritation in Tyrell’s smile.

            “Of course,” he expects Tyrell to get rough with him, he can feel his frustration but he’s still gentle. Kisses Elliot slow before he leaves and Elliot’s fucked. He sits up to chase the kiss when Tyrell pulls back. “Bonsoir, Elliot.”

            “Okay,” he says and Tyrell is dressed and gone. He’s fucked. He’s so fucking fucked.

 

            “Oh,” Shayla sounds sad when she sees the orange bottle. “You got a new hookup?”

            “No, Shayla,” he says and she looks hurt. “It was a gift.”

            “Pretty fucked up gift.” She says and she’s hurt. Elliot can read her. He’s good at it.

            “Shayla,” he says, “you’re my go to.”

            “If you say so,” she looks at the bottle. “I came to walk Flipper. Need a buddy for a few hours.” He nods.

            “Yeah,” he grabs her leash and Shayla smiles.

 

            He shouldn’t have crushed what Tyrell gave him. Taking more than he should always ends badly but he needs to talk to him and it felt easier the other night. Even if his dick was in his ass. Christ. What the fuck is he doing?

            He scrapes the powder into the snuff bullet, he got it from Shayla, and she didn’t exactly approve of it. Taking more than he should is dangerous but he needs to see Tyrell.

 

            He takes a hit while he’s waiting, turns his back to reception and he has a few minutes until the high hits. “Elliot,” he jumps, Tyrell has a hand on his shoulder and a disapproving, tight lipped smile on his face. “Please, come with me.”

            He trails close behind, hoodie up and the morphine is kicking in when they get to his office. “If I ever see you doing that in public again,” and Elliot doesn’t realize it’s a warning because Tyrell’s voice is sticky sweet. He blinks.

            “Okay,” he whispers and he’s got his back against the door. He left his backpack at home. He feels naked.

            “Elliot, I’m not going to bite you, your eyes may be large but I can assure you, I am not a wolf.” The way he says it sends chills down his spine.

            “That’s not how the fable goes,” Elliot manages and Tyrell gives him a confused look. “The wolf has the big eyes.”

            “Are you not the wolf when it comes to your habit?” Tyrell offers him a smile, doesn’t allow Elliot time for a response. “Cancel everything on my schedule for the next hour.” Tyrell says and Elliot wishes he could do that. Just cancel interactions with people without having to speak directly to those people. He needs an everyday life assistant. Tyrell turns his attention back to Elliot. “Would you like to come here?” He asks and Elliot nods. He can’t move. Closes his eyes. Focus,

            “Give me a second.” He focuses on Tyrell’s keystrokes. He should have stayed home.

            “Elliot, you’re mumbling.” Tyrell is touching his face, Elliot flinches so hard his head cracks back against the door and he grunts. The look on Tyrell’s face is one of mild concern.

            “Wanna continue.” He slurs and Tyrell looks confused. Elliot swallows. Focuses on his words. “Thought about it.”

            “You had to take morphine to tell me this?” Elliot nods. “We’ll have to work on you speaking without the need of drugs.” He nods. That’s what Tyrell wants. Elliot doesn’t mind needing morphine to speak to Tyrell.

            “Okay.” Tyrell’s mouth twitches up into a smile. He’s happy to hear that, he’s easy to read. Elliot likes that. Elliot flinches when Tyrell brushes his hand over his arm.

            “I want to kiss you,” Elliot freezes.

            “Oh?”

            “Is that okay?” Elliot nods, wide eyed and Tyrell’s hand slides up the side of his neck and Tyrell is gentle with him. His mouth is soft, his tongue is wet. He tastes like coffee and he presses his tongue back against Tyrell’s. He pulls away when it starts getting good and Elliot gives him a confused look. He leans in to kiss Tyrell and can feel him smile into it before pulling away. “Let me get you home, Elliot.” He should be home. He nods.

 

            “We have a deal,” Tyrell says and Elliot doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. “Next time we see each other be sober.” Elliot nods, slides out of the car and heads into his complex. He can do that.

**Author's Note:**

> Google translate is an even bigger cunt than I am.


End file.
